Blood Sport
by Gesithan
Summary: Imagine if the Wizarding World was more GRIMDARK and cynical. This is essentially Quidditch/Bloodbowl. Rated T but the language might be a little strong, use your discretion. Also, Husqvarna chainsaws! In a game of Quidditch! Don't forget to R&R!


The crowd thirsted for the game to begin. They paid good money to see some quidditch, and maybe some blood. He finished his last chunk of _hákarl_, fermented shark, and the goggles went down over his grey eyes. He mounted his firebolt, and dropped into the pitch.

"AAAAAAND….THE HAMMER OF SVALBARD; FROM THE LAND OF MIDNIGHT SUN; THE LEGENDARY BEATER JORGEN HAMMAR!" an echoing, amplified voice said. The board that was displaying an ad for something or other wiped clean, and displayed **LITHUANIA: 0 SVALBARD: 0**. While the rather hostile home crowd shouted and shrieked, the players were stoic and reserved, forming a circle around an enchanted box, which contained several balls. He gripped his club in anticipation.

"Now, you know I expect a clean game, unless you pay up now, or I happen to be looking the other way." The referee, a short, unassuming man, was thrust two equally large bags of gold from the team captains. "Well then, I guess you boys know what to do, so I'll kindly stay out of the way."

The snitch quickly ran away some other direction, the quaffle became embroiled in brutal hand-to-hand combat, and one of the bludgers was kind enough to present itself before Jorgen. Not one to waste time, he hit it with a beautiful _crack_ sound, and it crushed the ribs of one of the Lithuanian chasers.

"INCREDIBLE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, VASILJEV HIT INSTANTLY—LITHUANIA SCORES!"

The chaser was a tough, heavyset, vodka-loving, man, and despite coughing up considerable amount of blood and phlegm, smiled, and returned the favor by throwing a hidden knife at Jorgen.

"Fuck!" Jorgen said, but Vasiljev had rejoined the game/combat. This meant it was time for Jorgen to pay attention, and he sent both bludgers flying towards the Lithuanian seeker. He took one to the head and another to the back, and he folded, falling to the ground. Of course, he was replaced with a reserve player without missing a beat, but still.

Lithuania scored two more goals.

Jorgen rocketed towards the mass of violence, and he performed a maneuver known as the "Hit and Run." This was where, without stopping or slowing down, he swung his club at the skull of the Lithuanian beater, dislocating the top of his skull. He performed this maneuver flawlessly, but the beater did not move.

He tried again. The beater smiled at him.

This time a bludger flew by, which he of course smacked towards the iron beater, who started laughing as it bounced off.

"I am, how you say, _fucking_? Is it? Your mother." The beater said in broken English.

Jorgen, however, unsheathed his wand, and replied with "Fuck this noise! Accio Husqvarna!"

He wheeled away, saw the scoreboard showing them losing 50-20, and waited for the chainsaw to arrive. Of course, he did not idle while waiting, incapacitating the keeper and an obnoxious drunken hooligan.

_Meanwhile, in the top box_:

"This Jorgen fellow is quite good."

"Yes."

"Svalbard, a frozen little archipelago, a magical population comfortably under one thousand, and they just might win the world cup this year."

"I understand what you ask of me. Request payment of one thousand galleons, delivered to my secure account at Gringotts."

_Back in the game:_

Jorgen saw a beautiful thing flying towards him. Namely, it was a Husqvarna 36'' chainsaw, with a full tank of two-stroke fuel. He caught it with his right hand, and began the ignition process.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, I CAN CERTAINLY TELL YOU THAT WHAT YOU ARE SEEING-SVALBARD SCORES!-IS REAL! THE HAMMER OF SVALBARD HAS A CHAINSAW AND IS ATTEMPTING TO START IT!"

, it went, the yard-long chain rotating, ready to rip something apart. Jorgen flew forward, towards the annoyingly invulnerable Lithuanian. Jorgen tapped him on the shoulder, and the beater turned around, said "Va-" and was presented with a chainsaw blade in his chest. He would survive, magical medicine was too advanced to let a little thing like that permanently injure a man, and it was a crowd pleaser. Yes, even though the Lithuanians were upset that their beater was out, the ultimate reason that quidditch was popular was because it was fun to watch people get chainsaw whacked and crushed with bludgers and have their legs charmed off.

"HOLY SHITCASKETS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU SEE TH—SVALBARD CATCHES THE SNITCH! HELL!"

The crowd was not pleased. The spectators hung their heads, the fans screamed at the Svalbardians, and the hooligans shanked each other in the eyes with their wands and hexed each other in the face and other assorted shenanigans. Jorgen decided that hakarl sounded tasty right about now.

**[AN time!]**

**Aight, so I know that Vasiljev isn't a Lithuanian name, but I don't feel like googling a proper one. Also, that is what a chainsaw sounds like. Also, this was fairly short, but see if I care. (I don't). And I am pretty sure that Svalbardians don't eat hakarl, but it is exotic and stanky, and I think that it really sets Jorgen's character as the hardass beater that he is. The next chapter will probably flesh out the characters a lot more. And of course, I love reviews, they taste like hakarl but without all the ammonia. As a matter of fact, good, in-depth reviewers get to become crappy cameo characters down the line.**


End file.
